


Gala Night

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [24]
Category: Peter Capaldi fandom (not RPF), The Hour
Genre: 1950's, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Love, Marriage, No Drama, Peter Capaldi character file, Tenderness, just a little vignette, night out, parenthood if you blink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: Randall and Bel are getting ready to go out on the town. It's quite a while since they've had an evening together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows on from, and is in the same au as, my 'Second Time Around' story, which I posted last year. 
> 
> It's just a simple, uncomplicated little one shot, about two people and their relationship.

GALA NIGHT. 

Randall gazed at himself in the mirror ruefully. Smoothing his long bony fingers over his freshly shaven chin.  
The sting of cologne made him wince as he applied it to tender pink skin, a sharp intake of breath as it hit.  
Hair combed back, glasses on, staring at the face that stared impassively back. 

With a disgruntled _'humph'_ to himself he turned away, reaching for his white evening shirt, pulling up his braces from where they dangled round his narrow waist, onto each shoulder with a snap. 

Leaving the bathroom, sleeves flapping, he went in search of cufflinks. 

The sight that met his eyes as he reached the bedroom door stopped him dead. 

Leaning into the wooden doorframe. Propping himself. Transfixed. 

His wife. 

Bel. 

She was peering forwards into her dressing table mirror, carefully applying lipstick, before blotting on a tissue, leaving behind a perfect impression of her now, cherry coloured mouth.

A vision. 

Emerald evening gown. Her soft, blonde tresses teased and sprayed into a French pleat, fastened with diamanté combs. 

Pearls at her throat. 

A fragrant waft of perfume lingered around her. 

As he watched she reached for neat matching pearl earrings, inclining her head slightly as she fastened them into place.

Unaware of his scrutiny. 

Silently padding across the carpet, she caught his reflection behind her at the very last moment, before his lips connected with the soft skin just below her right earlobe.  
His mouth warm against her studied coolness. Fire and ice. 

"Mmmm!" She murmured, tilting her head once more, wordlessly inviting him to continue a path down towards her bare shoulder, his hands grazing the length of her arms. 

Alabaster. 

A life size figurine, fashioned and worked into perfection. 

She turned her shining face towards him, eyes bright with evident excitement, a hint of eyeshadow and kohl, the fine hair on her cheeks holding a touch of light powder from her compact. 

Rising, she faced him, her expression amused but questioning.  
Placing her hands on each of his shoulders, feeling the bone beneath the tight muscle of his shoulder blades.  
Whipcord and sinew. 

This was Randall Brown. 

Her man.

His throat worked subconsciously, Adam's apple bobbing as he took a deep swallow. 

The light from her dressing table lamp reflected in his spectacles, making his eyes seem larger and startlingly cyan blue.  
Heavy lidded now as he glanced adoringly down at her. 

Her fingers traced along his collarbones beneath the starched cotton of his shirt, coming to rest in the little exposed centre cleft where they met.  
A hollow which she found eminently kissable. 

Leaning in towards him with a contented sigh, she let her lips touch him there momentarily. 

"You smell good!" She whispered. 

"You too." He raised her head, a finger beneath her chin. Their mouths close but not quite touching, breath mingling, her painted nails against the crisp front of his partially buttoned dress shirt. 

"Freddie gone down alright?" He asked, caressing the line of her jaw then pecking her mouth gently. 

"Like a lamb!" She smiled. 

So disarming, it caught him unawares every time. 

"You look ravishing." He commented, almost shyly, backing away slightly so that he could take in the cut of her floor length frock, the places where it hugged her figure, the marble smoothness of her shoulders, the scent of her skin. 

"Why thank you, kind sir!" 

She did a twirl for him, holding out her skirt at the sides, a rustle of silk and tulle petticoat. 

"You'd better get a wriggle on darling......tempus fugit......." She tugged on his braces playfully. 

"I'll just check on Freddie first." He replied. "See my little man!" 

"Well, don't you dare wake him!" She chided. "Pamela will be here in a minute!" 

 

The nursery was lit by a nightlight on the floor just inside the doorway. A little glow worm of illumination, dimly showing the outline of a cot, a large dresser beneath the window, to the side a gaily painted toy box and a wooden rocking chair. 

Randall crossed the room on tiptoes, socked feet muffled on carpeted floor. 

Peering down over the bars. 

His little son. 

His pride and joy. 

Not quite two. 

The toddler lay, cherubic, chubby hands thrown up casually above his head. Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and safety. Sleeping soundly. 

The sleep of one who is not yet aware of the world's troubles and heartaches. In blissful ignorance of the hatred and cruelty outside those walls.  
Unsullied. Innocent. Unblemished by the harshness of life. 

Beautiful. 

Randall's eyes glistened as he gently pushed back the golden curls on the high domed forehead.  
The child stirred, little mouth working as if he were chewing a toffee.  
Arching his back, he stretched like a cat and yawned, showing wee, recently erupted, pearly white baby teeth.  
Fists opening and closing as he slumbered on regardless. 

"Night night my precious one." His papa whispered.  
Leaning in, he tucked the boy's moth eaten knitted rabbit next to the little body, pulling the blanket up so that it covered the youngster's gently rising and falling rib cage. Resting his large hand there for a few seconds.  
Feeling the thrum of the heartbeat, fluttering, the timpani of life. 

Returning to the bedroom, he sniffed slightly, wiping a hand across the base of his nose surreptitiously, so his wife shouldn't see. 

Bel, however, was somewhat preoccupied, hopping on one foot, thrusting stockinged toes into kitten heels with a grimace. 

"All quiet on the Western Front?" She enquired, balancing precariously, not looking up. 

"Safely in the Land of Nod!" Her husband replied, keeping his face turned slightly away from her.

At that moment, the awkward few seconds between the two parents was broken by a gentle tapping on the front door. 

"Gosh! That'll be Pamela! Cab'll be here in a minute.....Randall......you're not ready! _Do_ hurry up!" She admonished, her hand brushing his arm momentarily in the bedroom doorway, their eyes meeting fleetingly, as she gave a little reassuring squeeze.

"He'll be fine darling. Pamela will take good care!" 

Then sweeping past him, she hurried downstairs. 

"Five minutes!" She called over her shoulder with a smile. 

oOo

The taxi barged its way through the busy streets. Honking, joining the cacophony of manic traffic, all trying to move in different directions, as the evening rush hour hit its full swing. 

Bel sat, hands folded neatly in her lap clutching her long evening gloves and a velvet Dorothy bag, gazing out at the shimmering lights of the bustling city. 

Pleasantly aware of Randall's proximity. His shoulder pressing close to hers. 

Reaching behind her he fussed over her, ever attentive, adjusting her stole pointlessly, so that it demurely covered her bare shoulder.

Turning to regard him with an air of appreciation, a little frown that said the gesture was wholly unnecessary, she turned her left palm uppermost, offering it to him reassuringly, but without comment. 

For a second he stared down at the delicate hand, before placing his own in hers with a slight smile, interlacing their fingers. 

Secure. 

Comforting. 

A gentle sigh. Bringing her head down to rest against him. 

"Quite a while since we've done anything like this!" She remarked dreamily. 

"A while indeed." He echoed, his thumb sweeping the top of her wrist with great gentleness. 

"Do you think you'll win?" Her voice was quiet, a nervous tingle there, as she turned her head towards him again.

"Who can say! We are up against it I'd say, but, well, one never knows!" 

The cab weaved precariously in and out amongst the cars and buses along The Strand, pavements thronging with theatre goers, revellers and people simply drinking in the general atmosphere. 

Sweeping into the wide entrance to The Savoy. Opulent and glittering as it was. Decked in splendid array for the special occasion.

The occasion being The Society of Film and Television Arts Television awards. 

For which _The Hour_ was nominated for Best Factual Programme. 

A gala evening. 

Dinner dance. 

Quite the spectacle. 

 

Duly deposited in the foyer, Randall shepherded his wife through the crowded assembly, one hand deftly guiding, the other reaching nervously to his throat, adjusting his bow tie. 

Bel took a moment to collect herself. Smoothing the front of her gown, arranging her stole over each arm, draped at the elbow.  
Glancing around her at the other guests, taking in and admiring the dresses of the other ladies, their chosen colours, styles, accessories. 

As they reached the entrance to the main event room, Randall offered her his arm.  
It was with no small amount of pride that she took it, puffing out her chest, stepping forwards down a wide staircase, into the chattering throng.  
Tugging him close. Her other hand resting against his jacket sleeve, sensing the warmth of the fabric beneath her fingers.

"I love you!" She whispered. 

Randall coloured instantly, the blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.  
Flustered, he stuck an index finger down between collar and skin, feeling as if his jugular were being slowly constricted.  
Blowing out through his mouth, lest his head should explode. 

"Calm!" She continued sweetly. "You're the smartest, most handsome man in the room."

Giving a slight scoff, Randall scanned the scene before him over the top of his specs.

"And I'm lucky enough to be married to the most beautiful woman." He responded with great conviction.

At that moment Bel spotted Hector and Marnie. 

A cry of recognition and Marnie rushed over, dragging Hector by the arm and almost spilling his drink. 

Randall could not disguise his frown of consternation as he scrutinised the coupé champagne glass clasped in Hector's hand. 

His friend noticed the disapproving stare and smiled broadly.  
Leaning in close he whispered. 

"It's soda! But I have to look the part.......would you like one?" Randall relaxed his expression visibly and nodded. 

"I would! Please! It's nice to see you Hector." 

While this exchange took place Bel and Marnie were hugging, kissing on each cheek and admiring each other's frocks.  
There was only a momentary tinge of regret when Bel looked at Marnie's tiny cinched in waist, before placing her hands around her own.  
"I'm afraid the legacy of Freddie lingers on!" She laughed. 

"Nonsense!" Her friend replied warmly. "You look sensational!" 

oOo

An announcement directed them to take their seats. There followed a general hubbub as people moved forwards, searching the many circular tables for their names, chattering and laughing loudly. 

At the front, a raised stage. 

Strips of gold forming a sparkling curtain behind it. A microphone standing ready in the centre. 

Bel sipped her champagne, letting the bubbles tease her tongue before swallowing.  
She and Marnie clinked glasses. 

"To friendship!" Marnie exclaimed. 

"Friendship!" They all echoed. 

Then settled themselves for the awards part of the night to begin. 

Donald Pleasance won Best Actor and Gwen Watson, Best Actress, both to wild applause. 

Best Factual programme was taken by _'Tonight.'_ The main rival news programme to _The Hour_.  
Hector was disappointed but as Randall pointed out, at least they were nominated. That in itself was recognition. They applauded stoically.

Following the prize giving, a sumptuous dinner was served. Preceding the music and dancing.  
Nothing could be heard but the merry hum of voices and the clink of cutlery on china. 

oOo

 _"......I may be right , I may be wrong_  
_But I'm perfectly willing to swear_  
_That when you turned and smiled at me_  
_A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square......_ "

Blurred colours spangled under a slowly rotating glitter ball. A kaleidoscope of glitz and glamour. 

Gold lamé, diamanté, the swirl of silk, the rustle of taffeta. All with the teasing shimmer of little circles of light playing on each dancer, and across the boards beneath their feet. Bobbing and bouncing, reflecting and rebounding from every pretty necklace or earring, buckle or broach. 

Randall drew his wife onto the floor. 

There was something quite singular about the way his fingers curled around her own, so soft, for a man, so sensual. His other hand firm and steady at the small of her back. 

He held her close. 

Nose inches from his shoulder, as they began to move in time with the music. 

She could feel the sharp tensity in his chest, the solidity of the way he carried himself.  
Wiry, some would say bony, yet strong. 

With her eyes at that level, she could make out the line of his clavicle, the way his trapezius muscle flowed upwards from shoulder to neck, sense it's innate strength with each rippling movement, even beneath his jacket.  
As she leaned into his body, melding against him, she became aware of the gentle rise and fall of his ribs under the silken lapel.  
Smell the rose she'd placed in his buttonhole just before the taxi arrived. 

Raising her head slightly she could minutely examine that wonderful neck.  
The point at which it emerged from his collar, a visible throbbing pulse. 

She delighted in the strong line of his jaw, the way his skin stretched over the mandible, a little twitch there now, working nervously.  
Bringing her lips into a pucker, she placed a gentle kiss just on the prominent cartilage of his throat, making him swallow and give a tiny mewling sound.

 _"Bel!_ " 

He whispered her name as if he were venerating a deity. 

His eyes fluttering shut momentarily. Drawing her just a tiny bit closer. Fusing them together seamlessly.  
Completely lost in each other.

Bending his head, he captured her mouth with his own for a second or two, before pulling back slightly and gazing down at her.  
Never one for public displays of affection, he quite surprised her with the gesture, making her gasp as he released his grip.  
His mouth now close to her ear, she shivered with suppressed excitement as he spoke to her, barely audible above the swell of the chorus from the band. 

"I'm such a lucky man....I never thought.....not for a moment.....you......Freddie......still can't quite b......"

"Hush!" She murmured, glancing up into his face. "Randall! Don't! _I'm_ the one who's lucky.....look what I have now.....so much to be thankful for." 

He shook his head with a tut. 

"But you, little Fred.....I might never have known, but for that chance meeting.....a thousand to one....that my car should break down, that I should spot you in the street......find you.....after so many months of desperation.....searching....out of my mind.....oh Bel.....it might never have been." 

"But it was, and you did. My darling, we are both lucky." 

The last strains of the song ended. 

They separated with some reluctance.  
Standing, toe to toe, applauding with appreciation, before the various partners around them moved away, parting like the Red Sea, returning to their seats for a restorative drink.  
The band launched immediately into a faster number, prompting a different set of couples to sweep onto the floor. 

oOo

Bell leaned sleepily into her husband's side.  
His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, holding her gently in place against him. An extension of himself. A warm patch on the top of her arm where his hand rested. 

The wee small hours of the morning.  
When the people of the suburbs were sleeping the sleep of the righteous, but where the centre of the capital never truly slumbered.  
Around each street lamp a halo. An aura of yellow light around each bulb. Appearing to hover, their posts not visible through the condensation on the window. 

Randall and Bel sat in companionable silence.  
No words required.

It had been a fine evening, it amazed and amused Bel how readily her spouse now smiled, or even laughed.  
Softer around the edges somehow.  
Less prickly.  
Not so painfully aloof. 

He was smiling gently to himself even now.  
If she could but see it.  
A little mischievous grin, playing across his mouth as he recalled moments from the evening.

She sighed contentedly, shuffling closer, causing him to hitch himself nearer and rest his head against the top of hers.  
The scent of him filled her nostrils.  
His cologne, a hint of tobacco smoke, mingled with Pear's soap and his own unique musk. 

"Did you enjoy yourself?" He enquired warmly, his voice husky, but sweet as treacle. 

"It was _wonderful_!" She breathed. "Shame you didn't win though." 

The cab drew up to the kerb outside their house. Not the 1930's suburban house which once belonged to Randall's parents, where he'd lived since returning from the War, but their new home in Bloomsbury, close to Russell Square. 

oOo

Key in the lock, entering the dark and silent hall. Slipping his silk scarf and overcoat onto the hall stand.

Randall relinquished the hand he held so tightly in his own, and placed a finger over his lips.

"Shhh!" He whispered. "No noise! You want a cup of cocoa?" 

"No....tea, thanks!" She hissed back, stifling a giggle. 

Why did she feel so naughty? As if she were sneaking a man into her dorm after hours! 

He moved quietly through to the kitchen as she slipped her feet out of her shoes with a grateful sigh. Wriggling her newly freed toes with some relish. 

"Oh, that's bliss...!" She said softly. ".....my legs ache."

Sneaking up behind her unsuspecting husband she threaded her arms quickly around his middle, pulling him into her and wriggling her fingers up inside his jacket. 

Randall squirmed with a stifled explosion as she began to tickle him. Grabbing at her hands and choking out a desperate plea.

" _No!_ Bel! Stop.....please! You'll wake Pamela.....and Freddie.....and.....no! _Don't!_ Oh, you're incorrigible!" 

Afraid of laughing out loud and unable to hold in his mirth, he let out a series of squeaks and snorts as she continued to torment his ribs mercilessly with her dangerously manicured nails.  
Trying to bend himself in the middle or bring his legs up to prevent her, almost helpless in his amusement. 

The shrill sound of the boiling kettle ended their fun, as he twisted free of her to grab it from the gas stove in order to shut it up. 

Leaning against the table, breathing hard and fast, steaming kettle in hand, wheezing in an effort to restore his dignity. 

"Saved by the bell......or rather the whistle!" She tittered. 

"You are a _bad_ girl, and I'll get you back, never you fear!" He stuttered, his voice a thin puff of air. 

"I'll look forward to it!" She returned coquettishly, waggling her eyebrows at him. 

"You're _squiffy_!" He declared, as he made a pot of tea and watched the milk pan come to the boil to make his own hot chocolate. 

"So what?" Her expression was arch, almost challenging. "I haven't had a night out like that since before Freddie was born! I enjoyed myself, it was fun! I don't want it to end!" 

Creeping up the stairs, remembering which one creaked so that they both avoided stepping on it.  
Like two silly children trying not to get caught stealing from the pantry. 

Into their room as quietly as possible, door closed to. 

Breathing a sigh of relief. 

Bel plonked herself unceremoniously onto the bed, sitting upright for a moment, then throwing herself backwards onto the eiderdown, her legs in the air with a huff of contentment. 

Randall smirked to himself yet again at the sight of her, but turning away, began to undress. 

His wife drew her legs up fully onto the bed, propping herself on one elbow languidly, as she watched her husband's disrobing ritual. 

It amused her. 

More so tonight as she was ever so slightly inebriated. 

Methodical in the extreme.  
Jacket removed, hung on a wooden coat hanger, a little brush of the sleeves and lapels with his elegant fingers.  
Tie tugged from side to side, loosened, undone, pulled through his collar and carefully folded, before being placed in a small compartment in his tallboy. 

Cufflinks. Left first, then right. Always that way. Because the left was easier, he being right handed. 

Deposited in his cufflinks box neatly. 

He was perfectly aware that his wife was enjoying the show, but refused to be either put off his routine or intimidated by her close scrutiny. 

Randall knew his idiosyncrasies both fascinated and perplexed her, but he also knew that she loved him both _for_ them and in spite of them, so he was completely comfortable that he should provide her with comic entertainment.

Braces down, shirt untucked, he unfastened it's buttons slowly and meticulously, drawing out the spectacle, peaking at Bel out of the corner of his eye, to be certain that he had her full attention. 

He did. 

She was entranced. Her eyes following his every subtle movement.

Once his shirt was bundled into the laundry basket, he first removed his shoes, bending before her to undo the laces, then his trousers, folding them with great precision into the correct creases and placing them in the trouser press.

Seating himself on the end of the bed in vest and pants, crossing one leg over the other, he peeled off his socks. 

Subtle denting of the bedsprings beneath and beside him, alerted him to her shifting closer. 

She leaned herself somewhat heavily against his back, her arms around his neck. Cheek against his cheek. 

The scent of her never failed to stir him.  
Perfume, cigarette smoke (other people's, since she'd stopped smoking before Freddie was born). A hint of champagne. Hairspray. Imperial Leather soap. 

And Bel. 

Glorious, wonderful, beautiful Bel. 

He allowed her to pull him backwards, legs still hanging over the edge of the bed. Dragging her down with him.  
They kissed with a passion borne of two people bought together in rare and difficult circumstances.  
Long, deep and burning hot. 

An earnest exploration as much as a coming together. Seeking, teasing, yearning and pressing closer with each moment. 

Softness against softness. 

Warmth and oneness, each tasting and relishing the other. 

In Randall there was almost a reverence, reflecting his honour and respect, in Bel a profound admiration and esteem, an honest affection. In them both, a deep abiding love. 

It was several minutes before either found the necessity to breathe. 

Parting in a series of breathy gasps. 

Randall twisted an errant lock of her hair which had burst from its moorings during their intense tussle, giving her a final little peck. 

"We can't Bel...... _I can't_......not now.....Pamela is in the next room, she'll hear us......." 

With a resigned sigh, which was her admission that he was probably right, but she didn't want him to be, she lay her head down against his breastbone.  
His arms came up and encircled her. Kisses placed on the top of her head. 

"In the morning perhaps.......when Pamela has gone.....while Freddie has his nap......hmmm?" 

She nodded assent without raising her head. 

"Bel? Darling? Take off that frock......get ready for bed......drink your tea whilst it's hot........it's been such a lovely evening......." 

Lifting her head now, she flashed him her most melting smile, it lit up her whole face even in the dim lamp light. Randall felt his heart soar. 

God! How he adored this woman. How he would love nothing more than to be loving her more intimately right now! 

"I'll go peep at Freddie." She whispered, propping herself upright with a weary stretch. 

" _I'll_ go.....you undress......" 

He shunted himself off the bed, hiding his front view from her as best he could, embarrassed, lest she should see, through his underwear, his body's undeniable, and very visible reaction to her propinquity.  
Quickly swopping vest and pants for striped winceyette drawstring pyjamas. Giving her only the briefest glimpse of his neat little backside. 

Folding the discarded under garments neatly, before padding off through to the nursery on tiptoes. 

Bel watched him go, shaking her head fondly.....she knew of course, it made her smile.....bless him, so old fashioned!  
Her eyes glistened with a sudden lurch of emotion, before she brushed it aside and set herself to removing her jewellery and escaping the confines of her evening gown.

His adored youngster was still sleeping peacefully, amid a tangled bundle of covers, the knitted rabbit firmly clasped in his chubby arms, a thumb jammed into his mouth. 

Randall reached in, adjusted the blankets, placed a kiss on the hot little cheek, and crept away again. 

His wife, now divested of her ballgown, her face shining from the cold cream she'd used to remove her makeup, was standing beside the bed, resplendent in brassiere and silk french knickers, just grappling with her suspenders.

Crossing the room, Randall bent and placed his hands over hers tenderly.

"Let me, Bel........... _please_." He implored. 

Nodding her assent to his request with a faint smile, she lowered herself onto the bed. 

He sank to his knees at her feet. 

A humble supplicant at the shrine of the Goddess. 

Taking her heel in his palm, he raised her foot and rested it gently onto the top of his own leg. Reaching up, releasing with ease the clips on the ends of her suspenders, his fingers delicately grazing the sensitive inside of her thigh, causing her to suck in a little hot breath as he began slowly and deliberately to roll her stockings down. 

First one leg, then the other, so sensual. She watched his rapt expression, his hand carefully clasping the back of her calf as he drew down the gossamer silk. Pointing her toes towards him, her eyes filling as she saw the avid concentration there, the suppressed desire, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips as he stretched the sheer fabric clear and laid it aside.  
At the final moment he glanced up at her, and she leaned forwards, cupping his face in her hands, kissing him sweetly. 

"You're a dear!" She whispered, brokenly. "And I love you terribly." 

His face, as he gazed back at her, looked boyish, almost coy, and filled with such love that it made her whole body scream for him.

"You're my everything. You and little Freddie." He murmured in reply. "My whole world."  
Then, bringing his lips down in an act of veneration, he planted a gentle kiss on her right knee. 

"Come to bed darling. I want to hold you in my arms." She murmured.

Pulling her nightdress over her head, she laid open the sheets, sliding beneath and patting the mattress beside her.  
Randall eased his body in at her side, settling himself in her embrace.  
Her fingers stroked through his hair soothingly, lingering at the temples and down his cheek, whispering her love for him.

Randall as drifting. Slipping into oblivion. 

She felt him relax against her and let go, his ear against her breast. 

"Sleep, dearest." She whispered. 

Only deep, measured breathing came in response. 

Fin.


End file.
